


my selfish side has got a special way of coping

by Zoadgo



Series: Kinktober 2018 [24]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingering, Gun play, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Mentions of systematic abuse, Modern/Dystopia AU, Prisoner!Murphy, Questionable Consent, Questionable use of power, Rough Sex, guard!Bellamy, prisoner/guard dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 11:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: Murphy's a survivor. Always has been, always will be. No matter what life throws his way, he struggles through, and he keeps on going. Honestly, some days his perfect track record with overcoming calamity is the only thing that keeps him from giving up. And he has overcome so very many potentially life ending disasters, some that weren't even his fault, too.Like this latest one, being locked up in a facility he doesn't even know the name of. No one will tell him where he is, or why he's here, which isn't a good sign. Couple that with Murphy being no stranger to jails and knowing at least in general what day to day life should be like, and he can tell pretty easily this is no normal jail.Government black site, detainment camp, ultra max - it doesn't matter what term they're using, the end result is the same. Even if there was anyone out there looking for him - which there probably isn't, beyond a few gangs he's screwed over - they would never be able to find him. He's off the grid, at the mercy of a government that he's never been on particularly good terms with.Just another thing to survive, at the end of the day, and Murphy knows exactly how to do it.





	my selfish side has got a special way of coping

**Author's Note:**

> [title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owIHkRQyyP0)
> 
> so I've fallen way behind with kinktober due to being quite ill (nothing serious, but man-flu has nothing on how whiny i am when i have a cold) but day 27 called for **Gun Play and Against a Wall**. This was requested on tumblr, so I hope I did a good job!
> 
> My beta [Etra](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com) is the greatest person on the planet ♥
> 
> [tumblr](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com)

Murphy's a survivor. Always has been, always will be. No matter what life throws his way, he struggles through, and he keeps on going. Honestly, some days his perfect track record with overcoming calamity is the only thing that keeps him from giving up. And he has overcome so very many potentially life ending disasters, some that weren't even his fault, too.

Like this latest one, being locked up in a facility he doesn't even know the name of. No one will tell him where he is, or why he's here, which isn't a good sign. Couple that with Murphy being no stranger to jails and knowing at least in general what day to day life should be like, and he can tell pretty easily this is no normal jail. 

Government black site, detainment camp, ultra max - it doesn't matter what term they're using, the end result is the same. Even if there was anyone out there looking for him - which there probably isn't, beyond a few gangs he's screwed over - they would never be able to find him. He's off the grid, at the mercy of a government that he's never been on particularly good terms with.

Just another thing to survive, at the end of the day, and Murphy knows exactly how to do it.

If the government running this facility isn't friendly with him, Murphy's got to get a lot more friendly with the people directly responsible for his miserable quality of life. It takes a few false starts, a couple of beatings that he only half deserved, and no shortage of embarrassment, but he finds his mark after a while. Nameless, simply the least cruel of his guards, until one of the others calls him “Blake” a little too loudly when passing Murphy's cell.

It’s not hard to tell where Officer Blake’s interests lie, with a little careful testing of the waters. He never calls Murphy a fag or queer like the other ones do, which is a good first indicator. He doesn’t shy away or beat Murphy when he stumbles and leans up against him as Blake ushers him to various facilities, simply grunts and waits for him to catch his feet again. He’s primarily aloof, which doesn’t necessarily make him a mark. Maybe he’s just a good guy, caught up doing bad things in the name of serving his government. 

But of course, there’s the final test, the one that’s gotten Murphy’s ass kicked countless times. He times it perfectly, for when Blake should be coming to collect him for his daily shower. At least, he thinks it’s daily; there aren’t any windows, or any real way of telling the passage of times short of counting seconds. Murphy hears the familiar boot steps approaching, and grins to himself. Time to see if he’s right, or if he’s going to have dinner seasoned with his own blood again tonight.

When Blake opens the door, heavy locks falling with the sound of gunshots, Murphy is perfectly displayed. Ass to the door, three fingers buried inside himself, spine bowed in the way he knows makes him look the most delicate and inviting. He moans, a small needy noise as he thrusts his fingers a little. It feels good, even though his primary purpose in this show isn’t to actually get off. No, this is a declaration of intent, a display of the goods he can offer if only Blake is in the position to give him something in return.

Murphy knows, by the gust of air brushing over his skin, that Blake is in the room. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t rush over to beat him, so Murphy figures it’s working. He drops his face into the shitty, moldy mattress as if it’s the finest bed in the world, completely ignoring Blake’s presence. This only works if the guard thinks it’s an accident, not purposeful. They both know that’s a lie, of course, Murphy’s tried this trick a time or two before, but the illusion is necessary for the relationship to work. The guard has to initiate it, he always has to have the power. Nevermind that Murphy feels perfectly in control, making short thrusts of his hand at this awkward angle.

“P-” The first syllable dies on Blake’s lips, sending a thrill of victory through Murphy. Oh, he knows what that dry mouth and stumbling brain means. Life is about to get a little bit better for Murphy. “Prisoner 211804, stand and face the wall.”

Murphy hops to it, quite as if he hadn’t just been ‘caught’ masturbating. He chuckles as he raises his hands to the side of his head, staring at the cement wall, entirely nude. “What seems to be the problem, Officer?”

His breath leaves his lungs in a rush as Murphy’s shoved forwards into the wall, hard and without warning. Worry flashes through him, it’s entirely possible he misjudged Blake even in the last few seconds. Maybe he was just so enraged he couldn’t speak, maybe it wasn’t that he liked what he saw. 

But no, Murphy crushes down on that doubt in a second. He’s come too far now, he has to see this through to the end. It’s not like he’s going to get any more of a beating for talking. 

Well, he might. But a beating is a beating, at the end of the day.

“So rough,” Murphy laces his words with a moan, “That’s okay, I like it rough.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Blake’s voice is an even deeper rumble than the few times Murphy’s heard him speak before. His hand, still covered with its rough, tactical glove, grabs the back of Murphy’s neck, pinning him to the wall.

It doesn’t hurt, though, and he doesn’t hit him. Even when he shoved Murphy into the wall, it was more surprise than pain. Murphy smiles, cheek scrunching against the cold concrete.

“What, you-”

Murphy starts, but he’s silenced by the cold touch of steel on his exposed cheek. His eyes strain in their sockets, mouth going dry as vision confirms his fears. Okay, yes, that’s a gun. It’s not pointing at him, simply resting against his flesh, and the safety’s still on, but still. Murphy’s concern over a beating is a fancy of the past now. He shudders, closing his eyes.

Time to play the survival game, which means doing exactly what Blake wants. No more flirting, no more teasing, just being a good little prisoner. He can do that, much as it pains him.

“Who put you up to this?” Blake demands, voice dark in Murphy’s ear. It occurs to Murphy that he’s way closer than he needs to be for intimidation, the starched fabric of his uniform actually brushing against Murphy when he shifts slightly. 

“No one, I swear man, okay? Nobody puts me up to this, I just-” Murphy cuts off, unsure of exactly how to phrase it. What way does he plays this situation, that doesn’t get him killed and dumped in a hole without a name?

“You just what?” Blake asks, words clipped and tight. 

Murphy tries desperately to think quickly, as the gun slides against his skin. His body reacts to the situation unfortunately, his fight or flight response as always giving him the not so helpful third option of ‘fuck’. It’s all he can do to keep from rutting against the wall, and it does not help his higher brain function in the slightest. Murphy takes a second to mentally kick himself for being such a horny bastard, which is a second too long for Blake, apparently. He steps forward, crushing Murphy to the wall with his body, and as frightening as that should be, it does not help the situation with Murphy’s cock in the slightest.

“You. Just. _What_?” Blake’s breath tickles Murphy’s ear as he speaks, and Murphy shudders again, but for a different reason than when the gun had touched him. It’s been a stupidly long time since he’s gotten any other than his own hand, and- “Answer me.”

Blake taps the gun against Murphy’s temple, and it snaps Murphy out of his ridiculous headspace with mild panic. He blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind, which is also, unfortunately, the truth.

“I was trying to seduce you!”

The gun goes frighteningly still against the side of Murphy’s face, and he barely bites back a whimper. Blake is silent, still crushing him into the wall. He can feel his life hanging in the tense air between them; Murphy may have felt in control earlier, but Blake has all the real power here. As in, the gun. He’s got the freaking gun, and Murphy really should have come up with a better lie than-

“You what?” Blake’s voice sounds different in a way Murphy can’t quite put his finger on, but hey, at least he’s talking. Talking is better than hitting, and definitely better than shooting. So Murphy’s got to play this situation with the truth, then, or near enough to it. 

“I was-” Murphy stumbles on his words as the hand on the back of his neck shifts. Ever so slightly, but instead of crushing his face into the wall, it simply seems to be holding him now, thumb laying gently along the column of Murphy’s spine. He doesn’t find too much comfort in that, though, steel still glinting in his peripheral vision. “You’re really hot, okay? And it’s been a while, and I thought-”

Blake silences him with another movement of the gun. Murphy hopes that response works, at least it gives Blake a way to dismiss him as just some dumbass, horned up guy, instead of anything malicious. And it is the truth, just not the whole truth. Let’s be real, if Murphy had run into someone who looks like Blake at a bar, instead of in a prison, he would be climbing that shit like a tree.

“No one put you up to this?” Blake asks again, and Murphy shakes his head as much as he can, which isn’t much at all.

“No. I’m in solitary confinement, remember? Who would I talk to, who would have put me up to this, all the other guards hate me anyway. I guess that’s part of your job, and you do too, but-”

“I don’t hate you,” Blake cuts him off, and there’s that hope again, flaring dangerously in Murphy’s chest.

“Okay.” Murphy accepts that without questioning it. Things seem to be a little less volatile now, and there’s no need for him to go changing that with stupid questions. But then, of course, something starts nagging at his mind, and he asks a question anyway. “Wait, why do you think someone would have put me up to this?”

“They’re always talking about the pretty little-” Blake cuts off in a way that informs Murphy very clearly what the next word is, or at least the sentiment of it. He clears his throat, continuing, “I figured it was because I’m- that they were trying to get to me, to mess with me.”

“Hey, I’m not messing with you, man, I promise,” Murphy assures him, hope taking more sound root among his ribs. So, in those little absent words, does that mean what Murphy thinks it means? Then this position, Blake crushing him into the wall with his body...

Murphy’s dick twitches painfully against the rough cement of his cell wall, and his breath stutters in his throat, unbidden. He curses mentally at his reaction, because no matter what Blake meant, now is not the time for this shit.

Except, there’s Blake’s thumb, moving ever so slightly to stroke just the pad of it over Murphy’s skin. Almost imperceptible, but Murphy’s perception of his body is a little bit heightened right now, what with the weapon still against his face, and the rock hard erection between his legs.

“Are you… getting off on this?” Blake asks, and Murphy immediately attempts shaking his head again, despite the fact that yeah, yeah he is. Blake’s voice sounds like pure sex at the best of times, so him asking that question doesn’t exactly help any.

“No, it’s-” Murphy begins to lie, but then Blake’s hand shifts up his neck, to thread into his hair, and he has to bite his lip to stop from whimpering.

“You are,” Blake states soundly. The gun disappears from Murphy’s cheek as Blake takes a half step back, and there’s the sound of it being holstered, which allows him to breathe a little easier. Then the hand in his hair turns into a fist, pulling his head back enough that Murphy can actually look at Blake a bit more. His gaze is dark, something almost violent in it, but not like the violence Murphy’s used to. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I-” Murphy goes to lie, but a twist of Blake’s hand makes him wince and rethink that strategy. “Okay, okay! I am.”

Blake pushes him back flush with the wall again, and then his hand leaves Murphy altogether. Murphy hates that he finds himself missing the touch almost immediately. Well, he hadn't been lying when he’d said it had been a long time. Even before he got locked up, the last person he’d slept with was… God, had it really been since the bouncer at Skybox? What was his name again? Mbege?

The sound of velcro draws Murphy back to the present and away from delightful memories of the strong, mostly silent man. Something falls to the ground, but Murphy isn’t going to risk moving in order to look and see what it was. 

A bare second later and Blake’s hands return, except this time it’s not the rough touch of fabric gloves. Blake’s skin is hot against his slightly chilled form, and Murphy can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat. He practically melts into the touch as Blake runs his hands up Murphy’s back, dragging his palms over his ribs. Murphy tries to look at him as much as he can, but Blake leans over him in order to rest his head on the back of Murphy’s shoulder.

“They weren’t lying about you being pretty, huh?” Blake mumbles, one of his hands reaching down to squeeze Murphy’s ass. Murphy jumps under the contact, and Blake’s other hand falls on his shoulder, holding him firmly in place. Murphy is saved from having to come up with a response to that by Blake speaking again, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

His voice rumbles straight into Murphy’s chest, from there to his groin in a heartbeat. Murphy swallows thickly and nods, cheek dragging against the wall. 

“Say it,” Blake orders, hand squeezing Murphy’s shoulder. His other hand continues its lazy exploration of Murphy’s buttocks, mapping and squeezing the flesh there. A moan sneaks past Murphy’s guard as Blake’s thumb trails down for a scant second to ghost over Murphy’s hole.

“Yes, this is what I wanted,” Murphy admits, blushing despite the fact that this had started with him fingering himself in full view of Blake. This isn’t how this had gone down the previous times Murphy had seduced guards in his various prison stints. Those were always quick, guards taking what they wanted from him and giving him the little luxuries they could after they used him for their quick little orgasms.

“And what if it’s not what I wanted, huh?” Blake asks, actions somewhat undermining the possibility of that being true. 

Without warning or any real preparation, he sinks a finger into Murphy’s ass, and Murphy gasps. He’s glad he’d prepped himself just moments ago, allowing his body to take the intrusion with a minimal amount of protests. It still burns slightly, though, and Murphy grunts in the back of his throat. 

“What would you have done then?” Blake asks, curling his finger inside of Murphy. Murphy chokes on a breath, chuckling breathlessly.

“Gotten beaten. Gotten dead. Nothing that couldn’t have happened on any other day,” he admits, perhaps a little too truthful, but Blake had told him not to lie. Blake’s slight movements still for a moment, and he wonders if he’s fucked up.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Blake’s words are a bare mutter against his skin. Murphy refuses to feel anything for that other than victory. Protection is one of the biggest things he can get out of this whole arrangement. 

He moves his finger inside Murphy once again, thrusting slightly, and a second digit begins probing at his entrance. Murphy barely restrains himself from moving his hips, grinding them towards Blake’s hand. He remembers his earlier words, said in jibe, and Murphy smirks.

“I mean, you can hurt me a little. I wasn’t kidding when I said I liked it rough,” Murphy suggests, once again very definitely not lying. Because this is nice - hell, more than nice, Blake’s touch is strong and hot and belays a certain level of skill that excites Murphy to no end. But a part of Murphy is desperate and has been barely holding back from humping cement this whole time, and he’d love nothing more than to have Blake just take him however he damn well pleases.

“You do, huh?” Blake rumbles the words, thrusting his second finger in much as he had the first. Murphy’s hips jerk at the shock of it, and okay, grinding his dick into the wall isn’t quite as good as his mind had thought it would be. Blake continues holding him firmly in place, thrusting his fingers and shifting them to stretch Murphy. “Then maybe I shouldn’t bother with any of this, huh? I mean, you were handling it yourself pretty well when I came in.”

He leaves Murphy with a choice with those words, one which Murphy doesn’t hesitate in making. He bites his lip and takes a shaky breath before responding, “Yeah, just do it. Please.”

He sounds more than a little desperate, but whatever, he’s allowed to make the best of a bad situation. He could do a hell of a lot worse than getting fucked by a phenomenally hot guard with a voice that is getting sexier by the second. Blake pulls his fingers out of Murphy, chuckling slightly, which sends a crazy heat through him. Really, him laughing at Murphy’s needy state should not sound so damn good, but it does, and Murphy luxuriates in it. 

There’s the sound of a zipper behind him, and then Blake grabs Murphy by the hip, pulling him slightly away from the wall. Only just enough that he’s not crushed into it, and Blake’s other hand keeps his shoulders firmly against it. It takes some of the uncomfortable pressure off of his dick, and Murphy breathes a contented breath.

“You’re sure you want it rough?” Blake asks. 

Murphy shudders, harder than he can remember being in recent history, nodding eagerly. He feels the head of Blake’s cock drag over the skin of his ass for a monet before dipping between the mounds of flesh to tease at his hole. Murphy hopes Blake doesn’t want a verbal answer, because the anticipation takes deep hold of his lungs, making his breath come shallow and forming words absolutely impossible.

He hears Blake spit, which is the grossest form of slicking oneself up in Murphy’s mind, but better than going in dry. As is, it’s barely better, and as Blake starts to sink into him, it hurts like hell. Murphy sucks a breath in through his teeth, hissing at the burn. Okay, so maybe Blake is one of the biggest guys Murphy’s ever been with, and maybe Murphy’s a bit out of the game to be taking someone so well endowed. 

Nevertheless, Blake continues to press forward, unrelenting, filling Murphy to an almost impossible extent. Murphy’s pretty sure he forgets how to breathe about four inches in, and he doesn’t remember until Blake bottoms out against him. His hand on Murphy shoulder moves to rub the back of his neck soothingly, and Murphy gasps a breath.

“You’re fucking huge,” Murphy manages to say, and Blake chuckles again, which makes Murphy’s cock twitch despite the discomfort.

“Still want it rough?” Blake asks, sounding a little bit patronizing, which Murphy scoffs at. Okay, Blake is big, whatever. Murphy’s taken more with less prep, and he’s actually not so bad now that Murphy’s had a second to adjust. The burn fades to a gentle ache, and Murphy rolls his hips a little, as much as he can given the angle. He smiles as the actions causes Blake to choke out a curse.

_Not so cocky now, huh?_

“Try me.”

And oh, does Blake ever rise to those two words. He makes a noise somewhat akin to a growl, drawing his hips away from Murphy for a moment, only coming out about half way before pounding back in with impressive force. Murphy can’t help the gasp that draws from him, or the breathless noises he makes as Blake sets to fucking him thoroughly and soundly. It’s not too fast, but every thrust of his hips drives enough force into Murphy that he’s somewhat glad for the wall holding him up.

It should be too much to be pleasant, or the sort of weirdly dull experience he normally has when simply getting railed in order to get something he wants. But Blake’s hands on him, fingers digging in whenever Murphy manages to move against him, send sparks of pleasure to his core. And there’s the little noises Blake makes; not as many as Murphy, who moans when Blake hits that sweet spot inside of him, but definitely there. He’s good at this, not merely using Murphy to get his rocks off, but actually paying some small attention to what pleasure Murphy is getting out of it.

“Rough enough for you?” Blake goads, snapping his hips forward particularly firmly, his fingers digging bruises into Murphy’s shoulder. The actions drives an aborted half moan from Murphy’s lips, and he catches his breath with a laugh.

“Is it rough enough for _you_?” Murphy parrots back, because there’s no denying the possessive force of Blake’s grip, or the way his breath catches whenever he drives in particularly hard. He likes this, just as much or more than Murphy, and that all works to Murphy’s favour.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Blake rumbles, and Murphy rocks his hips against him.

“Does it?” He asks, the very picture of false-innocence.

Blake mumbles a curse that Murphy’s sure he didn’t even intend to say and begins thrusting again, with a new and singular purpose. His cock brushes over Murphy’s prostate time and time again, building pleasure in Murphy’s gut and making him react to the movements all the more. He doesn’t bother with being quiet; there’s no one else around that he’s ever heard, other than guards. And if Blake’s here, there’s little chance of anyone coming this way until they swap shifts later on.

So Murphy gives into it all; the moaning, the quiet curses and heavy panting behind him, the thorough and oh so delightful abuse of his ass. Blake hits his sweet spot on more thrusts than not, and Murphy whines, fingers digging into the wall so hard he’s afraid he might tear his nails out. He didn’t expect to actually get off on this, but now he’s almost there and he wants it so, _so_ bad.

“Do it,” Blake orders, releasing Murphy’s shoulder and dropping down to grab roughly at his cock. 

It only takes a few quick pulls and Murphy is finishing with a strangled moan, cum painting the wall in front of his hips by virtue of proximity. He breathes hard, chest still flush to the concrete, barely managing to hold himself up as Blake continues thrusting inside of him. As his orgasm ebbs, it’s definitely too much for his level of sensitivity, but never let it be said John Murphy is a quitter when it comes to dick. 

Blake must know something of how uncomfortable it is for Murphy, because he releases Murphy’s softening cock and grips his hips with both hands. He thrusts violently for a few more moments, which Murphy takes with only a few whimpers and grunts of protests. Then he pulls out rapidly, so sudden that Murphy finds himself clenching around nothing and feeling awfully empty. Blake chokes out a deep curse behind him, and Murphy feels warm wetness hit his ass. 

They stand there a moment longer, catching their individual breaths, and then the sound of a zipper breaks the relative silence. Murphy listens to Blake picking up his gloves, never moving away from the wall. No matter what, he’d been told to do this by a guard, he’s staying right here until Blake tells him otherwise. No sense ruining a good thing by making a guard think he was using sex as a distraction to go for his weapon.

Staying still has an added bonus when Blake shows enough consideration to grab something to wipe Murphy’s ass off with. Well, life is looking up already, isn’t it? With a cursory cleanup, Blake drops Murphy’s long discarded clothes on the ground next to him.

“Get dressed, it’s time for your shower,” Blake says, and it sounds less like an order and more like a request. Well, Murphy is more than happy to oblige. And if he puts on a little show when he bends over, well, Blake isn’t complaining.

When Murphy gets a chocolate on his dinner tray that night, he certainly isn’t complaining either. It’s not too bad, he decides, going to sleep on his shitty mattress, freshly showered, well fucked, and with cocoa on his tongue. As far as situations he’s been in, could be worse.


End file.
